broken heroes and guilty goddesses
by DarkBrightness
Summary: Link is haunted by the events of the past year, and Zelda cannot stop blaming herself. The road to recovery is long and hard, but together they can make it. Post-Skyward Sword Zelink.
1. wearing down the edges

So yeah this is happening.

I'm expecting to do 4 or 5 chapters, maybe more, maybe less. We'll see.

The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword and all its characters and settings belong to Nintendo and not me.

* * *

The doors opened slowly, scraping against the edge of the stone floor as light flooded into the Sealed Temple. Impa and Groose whirled around with startled exclamations, but Zelda's eyes had already been fixed on the entrance.

She hated it. Hated waiting; hated not being able to do anything; hated not being able to protect Link.

A boy stumbled into the temple, and her breath caught in her throat. Link was covered in blood—some red, his own blood, some black, the blood of the demon army he had cut his way through. His green tunic was in shreds, and he leaned heavily on his right leg, the left raised slightly off the ground. Still, there was relief and triumph on his face, even though he looked like he could barely manage to lift the Master Sword in his shaking hands.

Link's eyes met hers first, and there was something hurt in his dark blue irises that went beyond his physical wounds. Something exhausted and scarred that came from growing up too fast.

(It was all her fault, wasn't it?

The Goddess in her mind flinched at the question. Zelda's Link was just like Hylia's Link, though thousands of years apart and in different scenarios.

Only Hylia's Link had died, left behind as the earth became the sky and the humans were saved, dragging Demise down with him. Hylia had held his cold body in her arms and died with him, until they had both come alive again in mortal bodies.

When it came down to it, it was all her fault.)

She got to him before Impa or Groose could even take a step forward, and he reached for her like a child reaching to his mother. They sank to the cold stone floor together, because Link was bleeding everywhere and Zelda had just had her soul ripped halfway from her body and their legs couldn't hold them up any longer.

It had been so long.

They were both different people now, but at the end of things he was still her Link and she was still his Zelda, and they had grown up together. Even though the past year was an open wound inside both of them, his body was warm and familiar against hers and his voice was still the same as he murmured her name over and over like a prayer.

Link pressed his face into her shoulder, and his arms were tight around her. He was trembling badly, and she felt his blood seep from his clothing to hers. He let out one tiny sob—a quiet one for her ears only, but still the kind of sob that tore her apart on the inside.

And then he was Hylia's Chosen Hero again, selfless and courageous as he greeted Groose's ridiculous teasing and Impa's solemn praises. He transformed and put on a mask of the boy he used to be, the boy Zelda had missed so desperately. Only she could tell how different he was now compared to how he had been a year ago.

Zelda knew him too well to believe that he was just _all right_, after all Hylia—after all _she_ had put him through.

She led him to the corner of the temple where the seed of the Fruit of Life grew and sat him down on the stool that stood against the wall, turning away to gather all of medical supplies Impa kept there in case one of them got hurt.

(One of them always seemed to be getting hurt.)

"Zelda—" Link started in a hoarse, cracking voice, and she could feel all the unsaid words lingering in the silence between them, building up to form an almost unbearable weight.

"Hush," she said softly, gently, carefully. "I need to get those wounds treated, all right? Now take off your shirt."

She heard him exhale slowly, his breath wheezing in his lungs as he let the air out. Then there was the rustle of cloth and the chink of chainmail, and by the time she had the bucket filled with water from the temple's fountain his tunic was gone, revealing the wounds of a war veteran.

A sickly yellow-purple-black bruise flowered across Link's right side, and two of the ribs on his right side jutted out at wrong angles. His arms were decorated with varying degrees of burns, scrapes and scars. Ghiriham's attack had shredded the lower part of his pants and part of his boot, too, along with a good bit of skin. A gash glistened red towards the left part of his midsection.

Their eyes met, and he—Goddess, he looked so broken.

"Doesn't look so good, does it?" Link said and attempted a smile. It only made the guilt worse.

Zelda pressed her lips together and dipped a rag in her bucket of water, the liquid cool and soothing on her hands, and pressed the cloth to the wound on Link's stomach, feeling his muscles tense as a strained groan passed through his gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. There were tears in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. Zelda was so tired of being weak.

She had too many things to be sorry for.

* * *

*cough cough* please review *cough cough*


	2. pulling at invisible threads

Just to be clear, they're still at the Sealed Temple in the past because Link is injured and too weak to return to Skyloft. Or something.

Skyward Sword isn't mine.

_Edit: I temporarily took this chapter down and then replaced it because after rereading it I realized I randomly switched tenses at the end. And it was gross-cheesy so I switched some things around. Whoops._

* * *

_The dead howled throughout the depths of the Ancient Cistern, moans echoing off the cold walls and assaulting his ears in the hundreds and thousands and he couldn't take it anymore—_

_ Blades sung and footsteps slammed into the ground behind him, and he wanted to turn and fight but he was armed with only his will, and the last Sacred Tear was only just out of his reach—_

_ Impa stood before the portal with red eyes full of scorn and told him he was too late, too late, too late—_

_ He plunged into a sea of enemies, tearing them apart and leaving only blood in his wake, and above him Zelda was screaming—_

Link's eyes flew open just as the scream in his throat ended abruptly, and the first thing he saw was yellow. Zelda's face came into focus slowly, in her nightdress with blond hair all askew and eyebrows drawn up in a worried expression, lit only by candlelight.

She was the most beautiful thing in the world.

His breath was heaving in his chest as if he had just been fighting a horde of monsters, and his hair was damp with sweat. This was why he hardly slept these days. Everything he had done haunted him in his dreams.

(Link had to remind himself that it was over now—only that was a lie. It would never be over, not for him.)

"I need some air," he burst out and he was on his feet before she had time to protest, even though his legs were weak and his head was fuzzy. Link stumbled outside, pulling in cool oxygen into his lungs as if they were the last breaths he would ever take, and stopped at the edge, where the land dropped off into air and the Sealed Grounds spiraled down. It still felt strange, being in a time that didn't belong to him, a time where he had sealed Demise away into the Master Sword, a time where the Demon King's blood had flowed in rivulets down Link's arm, stick and black and warm.

A shudder that had nothing to do with the chilly night air snaked its way down his spine, goosebumps prickling at his shirtless torso.

"You shouldn't even be up," Zelda's voice said from behind him, and he swallowed hard in his throat. It was still Zelda's voice, soft and lilting, but now it was heavy and old and sad and far more thousand-year-old-goddess than sixteen-year-old-girl. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Link gave some kind of miserable chuckle that made him realize how pathetic he sounded. "When do I not have nightmares?" he asked, bitterness sharp on his tongue as she joined him at the ledge. As soon as the words were out he wanted to pull them back in, because Zelda flinched as if she had just been physically hit.

She reached out a hand cautiously, faltering before sliding it through his, her skin soft against his scarred, calloused palms. Her eyes were dark and full of pity and apologies that she didn't need to say. He already knew she would be tearing herself apart out of blame, pushing forgiveness so far away that it would never come back.

"Zelda," Link breathed as he watched her bite down on her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. "Zelda, it's not your fault. None of it is your fault."

"But—you—look at you, Link," she choked out, the moon flashing silver in her blue eyes. "Look at what's happened to you!" And Link supposed she was right—he was shirtless and covered in scars and bandages, most of which were soaked through with blood. He was a shadow of his former self—the rest of him had died when this blond goddess-girl had been sucked out of the sky and stolen from him, and when he stabbed his first monster at age sixteen, and when he had spent months pushing people away and traveling, sweating, bleeding, always alone—

"It's because of me, Link, all of it's because of me—"

"Hey," Link interrupted, and she clamped her jaw shut and stopped talking but wouldn't look him in the eye. "Hey, look at me." He tipped her chin up with a finger until their eyes met, and—and Link wasn't good with words, but he hadn't survived the past year because he was Hylia's Chosen One. He hadn't survived because he was destined to kill the Imprisoned; he hadn't even survived because he had to protect Skyloft and the land below. "You know you're the only thing that kept me going through this whole thing, don't you?" he murmurs.

Zelda's cheeks colored with a rosy blush, and he caught a glimpse of the innocence she used to wear so openly. She sniffled, let the tears fall, and gently wrapped her arms around his bandaged middle. Link smiled slightly-a small smile, but a real smile for the first time in ages. He held her tight against him, sunshine and warmth all wrapped up into one girl.

And he felt the rift between them begin to heal.


	3. no one goes home happy

idk. this isn't a very good chapter ._. i need to start spending more time on these things.

also i couldn't decide whose perspective i wanted this chapter to be in so i decided to do both. trying to move things along a little.

Skyward Sword belongs to Nintendo.

* * *

The day they finally left the past was sunny, bright morning light falling in rays through the cracks in the Sealed Temple's ceiling. Link woke to find his knight's uniform folded neatly beside his sleeping mat, washed clean of all but old bloodstains and rips sewn together neatly. His boots sat next to it, leather patches stitched on to cover the holes that had worn in. Even his sword and shield leaned against the wall, spotless and gleaming in the sunlight.

Zelda had been here. Of course.

"She's trying to take care of you, you know."

The voice was unexpected and instinct took over, instinct pounded into his mind after a year of fighting for his own survival. Link was on his feet in a flash, sword in hand and shield halfway up his arm, despite the needlepoints of pain that stabbed all over his battered body.

Impa stood in front of him with a wooden pitcher in her hands and an unimpressed look on her face. She sprinkled some of the water onto the seedling that grew steadily there, and held the rest out to him.

Link's shoulders drooped and his wounded leg gave out, forcing him to catch himself on equally wounded arms. The shield clattered to the floor in a crash of metal, and he found himself on his hands and knees, staring at the stone floor.

He wondered if he could ever stop being a soldier. If he could ever stop attacking everything that moved, ever stop shouldering too much weight with too little strength, ever stop pushing people away. Ever pick up the pieces and make something new, something better.

A cocoa-colored hand set the pitcher down in his field of vision, and there was the rustle of cloth as Impa sat herself down next to him, one leg crossed over another. "You'll reopen your wounds if you keep on doing things like that," she told him matter-of-factly. "And that would mean delaying your return even more. Groose is getting quite impatient."

He let out a breath, hot and whooshing through his lungs. He could feel Impa's eyes on him, dark red and accusing, just like at the Earth Temple—_you are too late to save her, too late, not strong enough, too late._

And so Link picked himself up, dusted himself off, and moved on.

Just like always.

He didn't know how to do anything else.

—

Fi plunged into an endless sleep and Impa died in a shower of warm light, and all Zelda could think was that it wouldn't have happened without her. None of this would have happened if she wasn't so _weak_. If she could've just been a little stronger, a little less dependent, Link's knuckles wouldn't be white on his empty sword scabbard and Impa wouldn't be dead.

Zelda looked on as Link stood before the Master Sword in its pedestal, shoulders tight and fingers clenched. Fi had meant as much to him as Impa had meant to her, and—and Zelda didn't think he could take much more of this before he was shattered beyond repair.

(It wasn't supposed to end like this. Everything was supposed to be sunshine and happy endings and victorious heroes.

But things were never that perfect.)

Link looked worlds better than he had two days ago. The color had returned to his skin, and he had washed the blood and grit off his skin this morning. He stood a little straighter and looked a little less tired. But she could still see right through him—on the exterior he was healing up nicely. It was the interior they had to work on.

"Come on," Zelda said softly, and gave him a tiny push towards the Gate of Time. "We should go."

She saw him swallow tightly, nervously, and wondered how long it had been since he returned to Skyloft. "Okay," he said quietly, barely audibly, but there was no finality to it.

It was past time for the Hero to return home.


	4. things will never be the same

i honestly never thought i would write skyward sword fanfiction that wasn't fluff. welp. trust me to always find the angsty side of something.

also Groose has kind of been expelled from my headcanon in the name of zelinky hurt/comfort. sorry. just imagine he's in skyloft somewhere being happy.

Skyward Sword belongs to Nintendo.

* * *

Link curled his fingers around his Loftwing's feathers, crimson as dark as the path of blood he left in his wake. In front of him, Zelda laughed childishly as her Loftwing made loops in the sky, shooting by him in a blur of blue feathers and blond hair.

He could almost forget the past year, almost pretend it had never happened and almost imagine they were both still young and naïve and held no responsibilities.

(Almost wasn't good enough. So much had changed—too much had changed.)

It had been months since Link had returned to his home. Skyloft was light and laughter and a world he didn't belong in anymore, compared to the surface, where dark things lurked in the shadows and he risked his life every day and slaughtered whatever stood in his way. His visits had dwindled until he stopped coming entirely, because he was different and home—home was still the same.

They probably all thought him dead—not that they would understand. _Ignorance is bliss_, the saying went, and Link knew how true it was, now. In Skyloft people lived long lives, never getting sick, dying peacefully in their sleep when they were old and wrinkled.

Zelda pulled her Loftwing up next to his as they rose above the island, the colorful town spreading out underneath them. Link heard shouts from far below as people spotted his Crimson Loftwing, and his stomach clenched. They landed in the town square in a flurry of blue-and-red-feathers and warm wind.

He couldn't face them. He couldn't let them see what he had become—not the selfless hero they thought he was, but a scared little boy crushed underneath the weight he had been destined to carry.

"Zelda," he started but couldn't finish, and he hated how weak he sounded. She turned and smiled a tiny smile, then twined her arm around his, her skin warm and smooth against his.

Link took a breath, let it out, and let her pull him along to meet the crowd. The people of Skyloft were cheering for them, gathering together to greet the hero and the goddess as they returned home from an adventure. Only they didn't know that—to these people Link and Zelda were just Link and Zelda, not the Triforce Bearer and Hylia reincarnated. Zelda had fallen through the clouds and Link had gone to find her—that was the story.

(If only it had been that simple.)

The crowd swarmed around the pair of them, jostling and congratulating and coming from all directions, and—suddenly he was back in the Ancient Cistern and the dead clustered around him, cold fingers yanking at his clothing and teeth sinking into his limbs, and there were too many, too many—

Link might have even reached for his sword instinctively, but he had to remind himself—again—that he didn't have one anymore. Fi was gone, asleep forever, and he shouldn't have even cared because she was emotionless but he—Goddess, of course he missed her. He missed Fi and he missed not knowing what dwelled below the clouds and he missed being innocent and messy and carefree.

"Give him some space, everyone." The voice wasn't loud, but the crowd fell silent nevertheless. They parted to make space for Zelda as she pulled away from her father—hands on hips, blue eyes gleaming fiercely; she was their Goddess without them even realizing it.

Zelda gave them all a bright grin and laced her fingers through Link's, and his hands stopped shaking so badly—a subtle gesture, but one that she knew he would understand—_I'm sorry_ and _it's all right_ and _you can do this, Link, I know you can._

After all, that was what Zelda always did—she gave him courage.

* * *

Review? ^_^


	5. the sky is closing in

Suuuuuuper quick chapter for now. I _promise_ the next one will be better and longer.

* * *

They took a walk the next day, the sun warm and pleasant overhead, just like always. Zelda's new dress ruffled in the breeze—a Skyloft dress, rather than the soft, flowing fabric Impa had dressed her in for months. It was the latest fashion, bright blue that matched her eyes, and Zelda had put it on this morning hoping that somehow it would make this place feel like her home again.

(But it hadn't. Throwing away the white dress Impa had given her had felt like throwing away her memories. It had felt like goodbye, to her mentor-friend-sister, to the Goddess locked inside her, to months spent on the run, always wary, always afraid.

That should've been a good thing, but Zelda—Zelda wasn't ready to leave it all behind.)

Link was even quieter than usual, shoulders tight and eyes darting around nervously, expecting danger to leap out from all directions. She knew it had to be killing him to walk around unarmed, defenseless and vulnerable, despite knowing that it was safe here. He hadn't let his guard down even a little since they had arrived the day before, even though Skyloft was a paradise—there were no monsters or rain or volcanoes; you didn't have to worry where your next meal would come from or how you would survive the night.

Somehow, the safety made Zelda more nervous than the danger. She swallowed hard, tight in her throat. Skyloft didn't feel _right_ anymore.

Two giggling blurs of color shot past their legs—Kukiel and Gully, laughing as they raced down the path towards the bazaar, and Zelda smiled and winced at the same time. Link met her gaze and she knew they were thinking the same thing—_we were like that, once. We were like that before everything went wrong._

Zelda's boots came to a halt at the same time Link's did. They stopped at the edge of the island, where the Goddess statue had stood not so long ago. Now the land dropped abruptly into empty air, the cliff rocky and jagged.

Zelda couldn't get used to the sight, and she could tell from the way Link inhaled sharply that he couldn't, either. This world was still beautiful, Loftwing colors bright against the azure sky and the blanket of clouds puffy and white below, but she didn't belong here. Not anymore.

"Do you ever think we'll be happy again?" Link murmured, barely loud enough for Zelda to hear, and—she wanted to say yes, she wanted to tell him they would recover and everything would be all right again, but—

"I don't know," she answered thickly, the words barely making it past her lips.

"I just…" Link struggled for a moment, clawing around for the right words, and she could hear the strain in his voice. "I killed so many, Zelda. I did nothing but slaughter and destroy for a year and I—I can't stay here."

"I know, Link," Zelda whispered, and leaned her head into the crook where his neck met his shoulder. "I know."

A tear splashed onto her cheek—his, hers, she couldn't even tell anymore. They stood like that for a long time, trying to get a grip, trying to let go of the past, trying to heal, but the swirling air of their childhood home felt different and choking and wrong.

"Do you want to say goodbye?" Link asked hoarsely, and Zelda knew that he was just barely holding on, just barely keeping it together.

"I—no," she said, because goodbye was painful and final and she wouldn't be able to do it, wouldn't be able to stand before her father and tell him that she was leaving forever. "Let's just…let's just go."

Zelda leaped off the edge of the Skyloft for the last time and called her Loftwing, fingers tangling through her soft blue feathers. The crimson of Link's bird was bright in the corner of her vision as he drew even with her, and they soared through the sky together, one final flight.

Neither of them looked back.


	6. wind in the forest

guys this chapter is actually kinda happy :O

this is the second to last. unless i decide to go crazy and add more.

Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword doesn't belong to me.

* * *

The first drop of rain spattered against his cheek, the second soaking into the sleeve of his tunic. The wind whistled through the trees of Faron Woods and blond hair blew in the breeze, a stream of golden sun-color until it settled around Zelda's slender shoulders. Link took a shaky breath, inhaling forest air—plant-smell and humidity and a brewing thunderstorm.

"I remember my first time here," Zelda murmured with a small, sad smile, and he could see the memories drift by in her eyes. "I thought this place was terrifying, but I found that it can be beautiful, too." And she sounded so young and so old at the same time, and it felt like it had been much longer than a year since she fell through the clouds and he went racing after her.

(Everyone had called him brave, but that wasn't the truth. The truth was that he had been too afraid to face the world without this glittering girl-goddess at his side. But he was stronger now.

Or at least, he was _supposed_ to be stronger.)

Suddenly it was pouring, rain coming down in icy sheets through the forest's canopy, and it didn't take long for both of them to be completely drenched. The sound of water splashing onto tree leaves became a roar that blocked out all other noises. A fork of lighting flashed bright on the horizon. Zelda shrieked and grabbed his hand, sprinting to a nearby overhang for cover.

It didn't rain in Skyloft—Skyloft had clear weather year round. But somehow, Link thought that maybe he'd rather have thunderstorms and sweltering heat and icicles forming on tree branches. The surface wasn't perfect, but—but maybe it was something better.

Zelda pulled hum underneath the small rocky ledge, and they crouched there for a moment, watching the downpour as it fell in a crescent around them. "I guess we'll have to wait it out," Zelda said with a sigh. "Unless you feel like trudging back to the temple in this weather."

There was barely enough room for both of them under the ledge, and Zelda curled up against him, huddled close for warmth. Link leaned against the rock wall, wincing a little as the rough surface dug into the old scars on his back, but it didn't hurt as much as it used to.

"Do you think he'll understand?" Zelda asked suddenly. "My father?"

Link swallowed. Headmaster Gaepora had been the closest thing he'd ever known to a father, but he had prized Zelda, held her close as the last remnant of his dead wife. Letting her go—it wouldn't be easy.

(But it was better than watching her wither slowly, trapped in a place where she didn't belong anymore. Link couldn't have let that happen.)

"Yeah," he answered slowly. "I think he will." She let out a breath and rested her head on his chest, until her breathing became slow and rhythmatic.

They stayed like that for a long time, the storm lulling both of them to sleep. It wasn't until sunlight pierced his eyelids that Link stirred, blinking his eyes against the bright rays. The rain had stopped, leaving behind only left-over drops dampening the grass, and a multicolored arc crested the sky above. A rainbow.

He shook Zelda awake, and she mumbled some nonsense phrase before opening blue eyes. "Look," Link said, and she followed his finger to the sky, her face lighting up and—there was his old Zelda, if only for a moment, springing up with a squeal and skipping out into the sunshine to gaze up at the rainbow.

He joined her outside, under their sky, the past far above them in Skyloft. Not gone—it would still haunt them every step they took—but farther off, not as clinging and suffocating. Somehow his arm unconsciously settled around Zelda's shoulders, and he pushed away the memories that surfaced, the memories of slaughtering and burning and destroying.

And Link thought that maybe they would be all right, after all.


	7. the journey never ends

Skyward Sword isn't mine.

Last chapter, guys. Thanks for all the reviews and I hope you like the ending! You've all been really cool :)

* * *

Zelda plucked a single note on her harp, the string vibrating quietly under her fingertip, and opened her eyes, sunlight falling on her blond lashes. The birds chirped cheerfully in the trees, and from the Goddess Statue she could make out the smudge that was Eldin Volcano on the horizon. The wind buffeted her skirts—still a Skyloft dress, because even though they had left their childhood home behind, it was still a part of her.

She rubbed a thumb over the shiny gold of the harp and thought of Demise and Hylia and how this cycle wasn't over—it was only just beginning. She thought of a girl hundreds of years from now who shared her name, and a boy from humble beginnings who would rise to greatness, and of how Zelda and Link would be broken and reshaped and changed over and over, until the end of time.

(Hylia hadn't meant for it to happen like this. Zelda could feel the Goddess's regret almost like it was a palpable substance—she supposed that not even guardian deities made the right decisions, all the time.)

But looking out over the surface from what felt like the top of the world, Zelda knew that some things were worth protecting.

Gloved hands lifted the harp out of her arms, and Link started strumming a song—the song that had had been the beginning of everything. Zelda knew they were both thinking of the same thing—of a day over a year ago when they had both been different people, when she had played this song for him on this very statue.

"We're not going back, are we?" she said softly. It wasn't a question.

Hylia's ballad—Zelda's ballad—ended abruptly, in the pluck of one string, the sound resonating in her ears. "I don't think so," Link answered, and Zelda nodded. It was a fact she had come to accept, because it was better this way—better for them to leave the past up in Skyloft.

Better for them to rebuild the surface, and rebuild themselves.

Link's arms dropped to his sides, the harp dangling in one hand. She watched conflicting emotions chase each other across his face, dark blue eyes troubled. He took a breath and let it out in a whoosh. "Zelda—"

And then suddenly they were kissing—full on, her body pressed against his, their skin radiating heat. His lips were gentle and forgiving against hers, his calloused hands cradling her face, her fingers tangling in his hair. Zelda didn't know if he had kissed her or if she had kissed him—all she knew was that this was _right_. This was how it was supposed to be.

They didn't break until both of them needed air, and even then Link was the one to pull away, both of them gasping, a little giddy, a little lightheaded. She could feel the bright red warmth spreading across her cheeks—she would've thought that being a goddess reincarnated put her above blushing, by now.

(She could feel Hylia's amusement lingering at the edges of her mind, but there was approval, too. The Goddess had lost her love hundreds of years ago, but Zelda had still found hers.)

Link pulled her close, dwarfing her as he wrapped his arms around her tightly. "Love you, Zelda," he mumbled into her neck, and she didn't even need to reply. He knew how she felt already. Zelda knew he still had the scars that came from being the one who everyone counted on, and those scars would never fade completely—but she was here to help him heal.

Link pressed his lips to hers again, and Zelda knew that they could take on whatever happened. They turned and faced their world together, and the weight of destiny pressed down on their shoulders—but they were both strong enough to carry the burden, now.

And it was only the beginning.


End file.
